Harry Potter and the Reflection of Fortune
by Quadrantje
Summary: The allknown plot: Harry travels back in time to teach his parents DADA. Filled with pranks, romance, duels, bantering, strange creatures, mighty wizards, the Order and far more...
1. The Unheard Prophecy

Disclaimer: the rights to 'Harry Potter' do not belong to me. No money is being made of this and no infringement of copyright is intended.  
A/N: I'm posting this to celebrate that exactly two years ago, I began my first fanfic.  
Thanks go to my great beta Kimmy and a bunch of my friends who read it and gladdened my heart with their great reactions.

- CHAPTER ONE -

_**The Unheard Prophecy**_

It was a brilliant sunny morning, quite common for the time of year, and a large Alihotsy plant was happily soaking up the warm rays. A lithe girl had been working her way through the forest for a while now and deftly moved past the plant, not even pausing to look at the strangely scrumptious looking leaves. The ten-year-old seemed to float over the mossy ground in a fashion vaguely resembling that of a gliding wasp, an impression that was only further enhanced by her large glasses (spiralled around her ears to make sure they wouldn't fall off) and an amazing collecting of shawls, bangles, beaded necklaces and a wide sequined dress that made one wonder how she could walk without tripping over its hem, the green fabric almost reached the ground and revealed very spritty legs the few times it flared up. All in all, she looked very much like an oversized bug. The girl was hardly a stranger to the Alihotsy plant as she came through this particular neck of the woods quite often and had come into close contact with the plant a few years back (she'd eaten an enormous amount of its leaves before succumbing to the hysteria they induced – the healers at St. Mungo's thought she'd probably suffer a slight after-effect the rest of her live and her mother swore it was the reason her voice became shrill when she was very agitated or keyed up). The experience had taught her that even something as innocent-looking as the Alihotsy plant could foreshadow danger.

But today, her mind wasn't on the huge plant; she had far more urgent business to attend to. What the girl was looking for, was a lucky four-leaved clover. After all, tomorrow was Friday the Thirteenth and she needed something to dispel the perilous magic that was released on an ill-fated day such as that. More over, the last two figures of the year added up to make thirteen too! Tomorrow was going to be a very unlucky day indeed.

Finally, the girl reached her destination: a sun-drenched glade filled with trefoil and dots of yellowy flowers. Perfect. The large amounts of clover would add to the luck of the four-leaved one, yellow was also a sign of good luck (and of communication, but that's beside the point) and the heaps of sunlight were a positive sign as well. Even the date was blessed, because the number twelve was a very powerful number, though seven would have been even better of course, weren't it that it had stormed heavily on Saturday – not a good omen at all, but she was hoping the brightness of today was enough to balance that out.

She crouched low to a patch of shamrock that was in the exact middle of the clearing – centre of power, you know – and rummaged around for a four-leaved one, whispering an old verse for luck in her soft, misty voice. The green of her frock paid off when she found one after a mere few minutes of searching. With a triumphant and slightly far-away smile she reached out her hand to gather up the important plant when she somehow plucked a buttercup instead. The girl went rigid, her head falling to her chest with a sickening snap. Her eyes began to roll in their sockets and her voice came out in a harsh tone far from her normal dreamy one, her mouth sagging. A nearby bird looked up startled.

'_He'll arrive soon… Coming into this world as the seventh month dies. The one who seems kindred to He Who Must Not Be Named, but couldn't differ more. Servant of Light where He is Lord of Darkness. Fleeing fame where He seeks it. Needing love where He despises it. Neither expecting what they'll find. Here their destinies will entwine, for neither can live while the other survives. He'll arrive soon…_'

Her eyes closed and her head snapped up again.

'Oh dear.' She said, blinking away the sudden sluggishness and staring at the yellow flower in her hand in surprise. 'Now how did I get that?' Her mouth formed an amazed 'o' and she glanced at the good luck clover with a somewhat proud look, reminiscent to that of a parent looking at a child that has just gotten an 'O' on a difficult Transfiguration test. 'Of course! I forgot to use my lucky scissors!' She drew out the small pair of clippers that had once fallen into a caldron of Felix Felicis and had been rather golden ever since. 'The clover has brought me luck already!' Said clover merely soaked up some more sun, unaware of its fate.

After the girl had carefully clipped the clover and was stowing it away in a small bottle of fortsroot extract, lucky scissors already tucked in a pocket of her dress, her mother's magically amplified voice resounded through the woods.

'Sybill!' She bellowed loudly, not having to worry about being overheard by anyone other than her daughter as the location of their home – originally bought by Sybill's great-great-grandmother for the total seclusion that she needed to keep her Inner Eye clear – was far from any muggle who might hear her. The girl quickly stuffed the small bottle away and started heading home.

Miles and miles away, on the other side of Britain, a newly formed orb balanced precariously on the edge of a shelf in row 91. For a few minutes, the globe wobbled and then suddenly toppled over the rim and fell to the ground. A faint crash resounded in the enormous hall and a hazy figure emerged from the orb and started talking to the empty room. After a few moments, the figure disappeared in wisps of smoke, taking the last recollection of the words with it. No one ever knew of the prophecy's short existence.


	2. Wormtail's Debt

- CHAPTER TWO -

_**Wormtail's Debt**_

Harry Potter cast a look at the motionless lake. Grave memories assaulted him: _Ron, Hermione, Gabrielle and Cho tied to the tail of the giant merman; Cedric's lifeless body; Sirius, falling; Dumbledore's body at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower, surrounded by aghast students and teachers alike; his mother's screams mingled with Voldemort's high laugh._ Horror upon horror flashed through his mind, draining his powers bit by bit. _Bill, lying pale and weak in the Hospital Wing, his face ravaged by Greyback; Mr Weasley, attacked by the snake; Mr Weasley, staring unseeingly up in the sky with the Dark Mark floating high above his corpse; Mrs. Weasley, crying over the boggart that flicked from one dead loved-one to another; Mrs. Weasley, attacked by a horde of Dementors, her kind face twisted in a mask of absolute terror; Ginny after he'd rescued her from Bellatrix and her Death Eater pals, lying in his arms and feeling like a ragged doll, blood seeping from her many wounds, just barely alive as he used every healing spell he knew_. The vision threatened to engulf him and tears were already streaming down his face, just as they'd done that day.

'No!' He forcefully threw the memory out of his mind, determined not to dwell on it now. Ginny was safely at home and Bellatrix was defeated, he reminded himself. Harry put a silencing spell on the monster in his chest that roared he go check on the lovely redhead immediately, and banished all the bad moments his mind was dredging up to a back corner of his mind. Focussing again on the duel and leaving his internal battle for what it was, he glared at the violent red eyes he could see again now that the memories were no longer blinding him.

Voldemort was staggering from the force Harry – untrained in Occlumency though he was – had used to throw him out of his head, clutching the white stone behind him. Harry's eyes widened; how fitting for Voldemort to die on Dumbledore's grave.

A surge of good magic and love seeped through the Boy-Who-Lived at the thought of his old friend and mentor, helping his power to focus and he saw the Dark Lord clearly even though the spell to correct his sight had been lifted. He saw the same hated spider-handed body that had arisen from the cauldron almost four years ago, the red slit-pupiled eyes amidst a snake-like face that had glinted so malevolently as Voldemort had tortured Harry with the cruciatus curse, or when he'd detailed the murder of James and Lily Potter as a means to spite Harry at the start of their duel. But the roles were reversed now. Voldemort was no longer the one with superior power and knowledge and neither was Harry the only half educated wizard he'd been. **He** had the upper hand now. And both knew Voldemort would not survive the day.

Harry slowly stood up from where he'd been kneeling on the floor, something he hadn't even been aware of until the end of the barrage of memories, his wand unwaveringly trained on Voldemort's heart. His breath came in heavy pants and he himself didn't even know whether it was from exhaustion or emotion. Voldemort's state wasn't any better: he had lost his wand and was still holding on to the white tomb so as not to fall. His Legilimency attack had cost him a lot of energy and their long battle had left him too drained to make any more use of his skills with wandless magic. He was effectively defenceless and both he and Harry knew this would be his end. Yet Harry hesitated. His hatred for the **_creature_** in front of him threatened to overwhelm him, and still he couldn't kill him. Just like that night in the Shrieking Shack when he had pointed his wand at Sirius and had wanted so badly to kill the one he thought had betrayed his parents, something was still holding him back. He didn't understand; this was his parent's **murderer**, the one who'd killed so many people and who alone was responsible for the terror the wizarding community had been under for the **past decades** and still he couldn't put an end to all the pain and suffering by killing him. What was _wrong_ with him!

Voldemort didn't seem to have noticed Harry's struggle yet and was looking at him with true fear in his eyes. Harry stiffened as he realized the truth. _He wasn't a killer._ Despite all Voldemort had done, all the lives he'd destroyed, all the families he'd ripped apart and all the suffering he'd brought, he couldn't kill him.

Ever since he'd heard the prophecy that had labelled him as either a murderer or a victim, he hadn't once thought he couldn't do it when the time came. Of course he had known that Voldemort could win and he then would die, but like this? To have defeated Voldemort only to fail; to stumble on the finish line? Anguish flooded him. All those long years of training, of hunting down and destroying every last horcrux, had been for nought.

He became aware of his watery eyes and his weakened state and was on the verge of lowering his wand when he noticed a something glitter out of the corner of his eye. In a split second, courtesy of his quidditch reflexes, he turned around. The sight that greeted him however, left him rooted on the spot. Perplexed, he watched a tatty rat scurry towards them and was a bit slow in lifting his wand when the rat turned into a small balding man with a silver hand. However, the animagus merely cast a quick glance from Harry to his master before he, in an unexpected act, shouted a curse at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's eyes widened, he obviously hadn't been expecting that any more than Harry had, and in his shock didn't think to duck in order to avoid the curse. Before either he or Harry comprehended what was going on, flames erupted all over his body, a strangely red tint to them. Voldemort's gruesome screams echoed around the grounds and within seconds he was gone. Harry just stared. Where not a minute before had been the most feared wizard of the century, was now nothing more than a pile of ashes. He was pulled out of his daze by another shriek, this time from behind him, and whirled around just in time to see Wormtail clutch his left arm in fright, a pained expression on his appalling features, before the red flames licked on his arm too and quickly spread from the Dark Mark to the rest of his body. Seconds later, he suffered the same fate Voldemort had. Peter didn't so much as look at Harry before he too was no more than dust.

Harry stared at the suddenly empty scene for a moment and it wasn't until his right leg threatened to collapse underneath him that he noticed how tired he was. With the adrenaline slowly leaving his system, he became acutely aware of his twisted right ankle, the few shards of ice sticking in his upper left arm, the long gash that sliced across his cheek and the numbness in his shoulder and wand hand. He also had a terrible headache that threatened to drown out any thoughts and was filling his mind with confusion. Those were all just minor though, compared to his completely drained powers, something life-threatening, especially for Harry. It was difficult to remember that he needed to find help through the haze in his brain. He leaned on Dumbledore's tomb for a moment, trying to catch his breath and gathered as much of his strength as he could muster.

After what felt like forever, he thought his legs might be able to support his weight and with shaky hands, he pushed himself off, swayed for a few seconds while trying his hardest not to make a graceful smack with the dancing ground. He finally managed to find an almost steady balance on a surface that was making a clear attempt at doing the waltz – Harry would advice it to calm down a bit on the 'up' but seemed to have misplaced his tongue somewhere – and waited for another minute to remember why exactly he was still standing. Ah yes! He needed to find help, someone to heal him possibly, someone like Ginny. It was with a rather wobbly gait that he finally managed to head towards Hogwarts.

Harry fell two times before he at last made it to the gates and he held a dead grip on the railing while climbing up the marble staircase. The place seemed strangely empty, something about an attack he thought, but the details eluded him in his fog-filled mind. Hogwarts looked almost scary without so much as an unfriendly Peeves there. Harry stumbled through endless corridors and up and down numerous staircases. He recognized where he was only about half of the time and fell hard when he got stuck in one of the disappearing steps. In his exhausted state, it took Harry a good five minutes to get out of the step and when he finally did, he tumbled down the rest of the way. He knew only vaguely that he was trying to get to the Headmistress' office, but didn't remember where that was. The whole time he desperately clung to the knowledge that he needed to find a healer.

After some time, he ducked under a tapestry into a hidden passageway, came out in a corridor he believed to be on the sixth floor, walked up another flight of stairs, by this time wishing desperately for someone to help him or for Ginny to arrive, whatever come first, stumbled his way through another long hallway, made a left turn and walked by an empty stretch of wall right into a suit of armour he was sure hadn't been there before. Harry fell backwards, cursing half-heartedly, and prayed for madam Pomfrey to heal him even though a small voice in the back of his head reminded him she was dead. When his mind seemed to be back to its old hazy self, he got up, feebly brushed himself off but quickly stopped that when he felt something awfully akin to blood caked to his robes, and this time walked past the armour. After a right turn, he ran into a dead end, made his way back, and passed the same spot of blank wall again but instead of being empty it now held a door. He frowned and then noticed that the suit of armour was absent too. Too tired to really care, he mentally shrugged, opened the door and staggered his way inside, where he promptly blacked out, somehow falling into a lovely soft mountain of pillows.

With a soft whooshing sound, the third wizard that day vanished from the grounds of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minutes later a windswept Ginny Weasley Apparated just outside the gates and hurried to where she could feel the residual magic. Following Harry's trail, she zigzagged though the castle to finally stop in front of the Room of Requirement, the door of which was still half open. The room was entirely empty except for a stack of pillows right behind the door, and it was barely bigger than a single bed. The walls were starkly white but there wasn't any light to drive away the shadows. The room had an eerie feeling to it. Next to the pillows was a gold locket Ginny immediately recognized as belonging to the Boy-Who-Lived. But there was no sign of Harry.


	3. The Odd Arrival

- CHAPTER THREE -

_**The Odd Arrival**_

Harry awoke with a start and shot up. His head almost immediately hit a solid bar and he keeled back over, again sprawled out on his back. His body was frighteningly weak and he wondered how that retched bar got there, so he grappled for the wand holster on his left arm. His hand hit a bandage instead of the expected leather and he moaned when his arm painfully let him know just why the bind was there. He relaxed, if his wounds had been cared for, it was highly unlikely Voldemort had caught him.

'Ginny?' He called out, surprised to hear his voice come out as a high croak. No one came. Harry frowned, where was she? He carefully cracked one eye slightly open, and saw only white. White? His other eye flew open too, but, mindful of the bar, he stopped himself from flying up. There was nothing above his head aside from even more white. There was, however, an entire **Hospital Wing **in front of his **bed**. He blinked twice very quickly and then silently asked the ceiling, where all such answers reside, just how he ended up in Hogwart's Hospital Wing. The ceiling didn't answer; big surprise. But it did call for reinforcements, apparently, as a door on the other side of the room opened to let a witch enter, who was muttering under her breath about irresponsible people and the limits such people forgot. Harry's mouth gaped open.

'Madam Pomfrey?' He stammered, as he recognized the matron. His mind was on the verge of shut-down. Normally Ginny would be would be almost instantly by his side after he'd been injured, yet she wasn't even in sight and now he saw the **dead** school nurse!

Harry's exhausted brain was just working its way to the conclusion that he was dreaming when the mediwitch – who had noticed he was awake – walked towards him at almost sub-human speed, pushed a vial of steamy black liquid in his hands and sternly ordered him to drink it. He did. She immediately snapped the now empty vial out of his hand and gave him another, filled with a clear red potion this time, which he also downed – and nearly choked on. His eyes started to water and steam from his ears blew through his hair to make it even messier. He opened his mouth to protest, but didn't get a chance to as Madam Pomfrey stopped her still ongoing rant on overzealous people long enough to throw the content of the last vial down his throat and whip out her wand to summon even more potions.

Harry used the moments respite to try and gleam some facts, while he felt his mind clearing and the memories of Voldemort's death return.

'How did I get here?' He gulped, his voice still unnaturally high. Madam Pomfrey, instead of answering, merely plucked two more vials from midair with practiced ease and handed him one of them, reaching over to fluff up his already perfectly fluffed-up pillow. The pillow started singing lullabies in a low, vibrating tone that was slightly off key, at which she threw the last potion, a baby blue concoction with a menacing hiss, on it, causing tiny flames like the ones Hermione had conjured in their first year to erupt all over the pillow. The cushion stuck on a very high and ear-splitting note for a moment before it shut up. Light blue scorch marks showed it wasn't the first time the cushion had received that treatment.

At that moment the doors flew open and Dumbledore strode in, cutting short Harry's next question.

'Ah… I see our young friend is awake then.' He said with the familiar grandfatherly smile on his face that had been there all the years Harry had known him. The only difference between this Dumbledore and the one he had seen die two and a half years ago was his hand. It was not yet black and shrivelled up, but normal, though somewhat reddish at the moment.

'What happened?' Harry asked. His head was starting to throb from the fumes of the vial he was still holding, so he quickly drank the potion, wincing as the vile taste abused his taste buds. He repeated his earlier question. 'How did I get here?'

'Poppy, if you'd be so kind?' Dumbledore asked the matron. Madam Pomfrey nodded and then left without a word, a whole line of empty vials trailing behind her.

'Now, you asked how you got here. I think the important question isn't how you got here, but rather **when** you are, but I'll get back to that later.' Dumbledore looked quite amused and the eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were twinkling merrily. 'Four days ago, our groundskeeper, Hagrid, was out walking his dog when he came by the lake. Well, Fluffy has a rather… er… extended eyesight –' Harry smirked as he thought of just why the gigantic three-headed dog could see almost three hundred and sixty degrees 'and he spotted you lying on the lake shore. Hagrid immediately brought you to Madam Pomfrey here and she has been taking care of you since then. She says you have severe magical exhaustion and it will take a days, if not weeks, depending on your natural power level, before you'll be back to your full strength.' He paused for a moment and his normal twinkle increased.

'That, my boy, is how you came to be in the year 1976.' Harry's eyes grew wide and, forgetting it wasn't there for a moment, he flailed his hands around in an attempt to grab the bar above his head for balance, but instead fell back on the bed. His pillow flared up with a few forgotten bluebell flames and let out a small squeak. Harry lay in shock for a minute or two, his head surrounded by a blue halo, before he unexpectedly burst into humourless chuckles.

'I'm… I'm in nineteen… I'm in 1976?' he squeezed out between fits of laughter. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes and the slash on his cheek was starting to ache painfully but he couldn't stop the chilling guffaws. 'Why did I never see' hiccup 'that one coming?'

Dumbledore's full attention was on unsticking two lemon drops.

Just as suddenly as he'd started laughing, Harry stopped, and the expression on his face changed so fast it looked like a shutter had been slammed in place. The new pensive look was much less frightening than the unnatural-sounding chortles had been.

'What date is it today?' He asked, looking at the old wizard intently.

'Today is the forth of August.' The Headmaster answered, casting a quick look over his half-moon spectacles at Harry between un-gluing attempts. Harry's sharp intake as he realised just on which date he must have arrived was lost on him as the sweets finally let go. He propped one of the sauery sweets in his mouth and happily sucked on it. When Harry, still trying to digest that latest bit of information, refused his offer of the other lemon drop, that one followed the first.

'Who…' Harry's voice was wavering dangerously, 'who are the new Head Boy and Girl this year?'

Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. 'Lily Evans and James Potter.' Harry made a strange noise that sounded halfway between a cough and something being trotted on. Dumbledore stared closely at him and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling he was seeing right through him.

'Uh… thank you for letting me stay here.' Harry said in an attempt to break the silence.

'You're quite welcome, my boy. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me your name and where you came from?' Harry swallowed. He shifted a bit under Dumbledore's gaze, unsure of how much to tell the old wizard. After a few moments of uneasy silence, he decided it would be far easier if Dumbledore knew who he was, just in case he'd have to stay in this time for a while.

'I'm from the future, sir. My name is Harry James Potter.' Dumbledore nodded encouragingly.

Harry told him the basics of how he'd gotten here and a bit about his life, though leaving out most of what could influence the timeline, such as what had happened with Wormtail and Sirius and how Voldemort had been defeated. 'And then I stumbled into a room and passed out.' He finished.

Dumbledore was staring out the window thoughtfully, sucking on another lemon drop. Harry almost thought he wouldn't answer at all when he suddenly turned back to him and responded in a light tone.

'Well, it seems we've just found ourselves this year's Defence against the Dark Arts professor!' He said. He winked at Harry and, without another word, turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving a once more stunned Boy-Who-Lived behind.

_**-xxx-**_

It was a few days before Harry had the chance to see Dumbledore again. The Headmaster didn't come by the Hospital Wing again and madam Pomfrey was quite determined to keep Harry there. Finally, almost a week after Harry had first woken up and about eight days after his patience had worn out, the nineteen-year-old was finally told he could leave the sterile room. One final check-up later, and he was home free.

Harry slowly walked to the headmaster's office, trying to collect his thoughts on the way. Finally he reached the stone gargoyle, only to realize that once again, he didn't know the password. He took a deep breath, ready to list off half a dozen sweets.

'Lemon drops, ice mice–' his voice trailed off in surprise when the gargoyle moved at his first guess. 'It's almost too easy.' He mumbled. The Boy-Who-Lived – and Time-Travelled – made his way up the staircase. The door to the Headmaster's office swung open even before he'd gotten a chance to knock on it. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his hands folded in front of his face with the tips of his fingers touching, looking serene.

'Ah, Poppy told me you'd be released today. I'd hoped you'd come to see me soon.' Harry looked around the office a bit nervously. It looked the same it always had while Dumbledore was Headmaster; delicate silver instruments emitting hazes of smoke, the Sorting Hat, portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses, the cupboard that would one day house the Pensieve – and perhaps already did – and of course Fawkes' golden perch.

Dumbledore cut his inspection short by starting the conversation. 'Do sit down, Harry. Now, you're probably wondering what I meant when I said you would be the Defence professor. Allow me to explain.

At the present time, neither I nor any of my staff know how to allow you to get back to your own time. As I suspect you're highly important in the fight against Lord Voldemort and because you could seriously pollute the timeline, it is highly impervious you stay somewhere safe. I would also like to be able to keep an eye on you, both for the reasons I just mentioned and because you seem like a very interesting young man.' Dumbledore looked at Harry amused as he said the last sentence.

'As for the teaching position. As you may or may not know, there seems to be a sort of curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position ever since I refused it to Tom Riddle a number of years ago. Since then, I have not been able to keep a teacher for more than a year. The last candidate, a Miss Marlene McKinnon, has just resigned to become more active in the fight against the Dark Lord. The only other person willing to take on the position is Augustus Rookwood, a Ministry wizard. I do not wish to hire him, for I'm not sure of his loyalties, but if you refuse the job, I will most likely be forced to accept his offer.' Dumbledore looked quite grave, for which Harry could not blame him, knowing that Rookwood was, in fact, a Death Eater.

Harry was quite surprised at how franc his old Headmaster was being with him, considering they'd only had one conversation since he literally appeared out of thin air. Then again, Dumbledore was known for trusting people even when they didn't deserve it, as the circumstances of his death had made painfully obvious.

Not knowing how to respond to the Headmaster's offer, Harry let his eyes pass through the room again. Suddenly, they landed on today's Daily Prophet, which was lying on Dumbledore's desk. What caught Harry's interest was the bold word 'Potter' mentioned on the cover.

'What about my parents?' he inquired. 'I assume I'll have to teach them.'

Dumbledore nodded at him gently. 'I trust you to handle your dealings with them to the best of your abilities.' He held up one hand to cut off Harry's protest. 'Even though I know you have not seen them for a long time, I have every faith in you. From what I've seen so far you are a very bright young man and your account of the future has lead me to the conclusion that I trust you there too. But – and this is very important, Harry! – under no circumstance are you to tell them of their relation to you. I realize that you are a full-grown wizard well capable of making your own decisions and that I hold no authority over you other than possibly that of employer, but that is of vital importance. Whatever may be in their future is destined to be that way and changing one thing may very well lead to events you had not foreseen. Or you may get back to your time to find that despite your efforts, nothing has changed. Time is a fickle mistress and dealing with time travel is highly dangerous and should therefore be treated with great caution.' Over his half-moon spectacles, the Headmaster looked at Harry imploring.

Harry was reminded of their conversation in his first year when he'd come across the mirror of Erised. It was with the same insisting look that Dumbledore now fixed him, as he'd asked him not to go looking for the mirror again then. And just like that time, he knew he'd obey.

'Yes, sir. I understand. And I'd like to accept that teaching job.'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'It's Albus, Harry. After all, we are colleagues now.'

'Albus it is.' Harry smiled back, grateful for the feeling that his life was finally getting a bit settled again. Then the feeling disappeared and his face turned serious. 'What about Voldemort?' he asked in a cold voice. 'What has he been up to lately?' Dumbledore sighed gravely, and he seemed to age right in front of his eyes.

'I fear the Dark Lord is growing stronger every day, and his actions more loathsome.' The old wizard shook his head morosely, the sparkle in his eyes having gone. Then he stood up. 'But that is a conversation for another time. Now, how about I show you to your chambers?'

But Harry would not have it. His eyes flared and the air around him was already beginning to crackle with energy. He too stood up. 'With all due respect, Albus, I won't be kept in the dark again; people died because of that last time!' With every word that tumbled over his lips, the magic in the room seemed to intensify. 'I'm not a child anymore and neither do I need your protection. Just tell me, what is that bastard of a Voldemort doing?'

Dumbledore stared at him for a long time, seemingly to size him up. In response, Harry only became angrier until the power was radiating off him in waves. A few tense seconds later, Dumbledore nodded curtly.

'I see you're not about to be deterred. Very well.

Tom has been gathering followers. In the last year, we estimate his forces have tripled. There has also been an increase of attacks on muggles and muggle-borns. Voldemort is slowly rising in power. I fear that there are dark and difficult times ahead of us.'

Silence reigned. His anger dissipated and Harry suddenly felt very weak.

'Thank you for telling me, Albus.' He finally said, using all his willpower to stay standing. 'Could you show me my rooms now?'

Dumbledore quietly told Harry to follow him and lead him out of his office and through Hogwarts. They walked in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say as they came through familiar halls and stairs. Finally Dumbledore stopped in front of a painting of a pale old witch.

'Here we are. Hello, Violet.' Harry suddenly recognized the witch as the friend of the Fat Lady's. He wondered why her painting was now hanging here, whereas in his time it had been hanging in a room close to the Great Hall. They were on the fifth floor, however, so they weren't even close by. He started out of his musings as he noticed that Dumbledore was speaking. 'The password is _peace and quiet_, but you can change it at any time. Now,' they went inside after Violet had swung open when the Headmaster had said the password, 'Just one more thing, Harry. As you are from the future, I think it wouldn't be wise for you to keep your name. It would be slightly difficult to explain why my new Defence teacher has the same surname as one of the oldest wizarding families in England, not to mention the Head Boy, while no one has ever heard of you.'

Harry nodded. 'I see your point. Did you have a name in mind, Albus?'

'No, I suggest you think of one. Though, of course, you can keep your first name; it's common enough. For your last name it is probably advisable if it's close to the truth, so you have no trouble remembering it and responding to it.'

Harry thought for a moment. 'How about Prongs?' He finally asked.

'Prongs? Well, I suppose it would do the trick. About your history; telling people that your father was a muggle and that you were home schooled should solve that question. Now, Mr Prongs, good luck teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. If you have any questions, come to me. Goodnight.' Dumbledore winked at him once before leaving Harry alone.

The new DADA professor dropped down into a comfortable chair with an exhausted sigh.

'This is going to be interesting.' He said to himself. 'Yes, this is going to be very interesting.'


	4. The TwoWay Mirror

A/N: And once again I must apologize for taking so long to update, I really was trying this time and had every confidence in getting another chapter out a few weeks after the last one, but then two boys on my school died in a car accident and I was pulled rather cruel from the happy and cheerful mood I need to write this fic and it took me a while to get back. I make no promissed about the swiftness of the next chapter, because I fear it will be long. But please, review and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!  
Thanks to my beta Kimmy and my beta and RoF-pusher Kaatje!

- CHAPTER FOUR -

_**The Two-Way Mirror**_

The first two weeks were relatively peaceful, as the castle was empty except for Harry, Dumbledore and Filch. Of course, Hogwarts could never really be quiet, because even with the absence of students and teachers, it still held its ghosts, paintings, house-elves and the like. Harry discovered that for himself the day after he'd moved into the Defence quarters, when he had a run-in with Peeves. The unfriendly – and bored now that there were no students to torment – poltergeist rained down torches on him and tried to lock him into one of the suits of armour. In return, Harry turned him florescent pink. Peeves spent the rest of the holidays staying as far away from the new Defence teacher as he could and resorted to tormenting Filch again, which resulted in Perfect-Aim Propellers becoming number three hundred eighty-two on the forbidden objects list.

So far Harry had done little besides wandering around Hogwarts, finding his way in the huge castle. Because even though he'd lived in the castle and had called it home for six years, it almost seemed as if he didn't know it at all. Paintings had been – or would be – moved, stairs suddenly went to different floors, and classrooms were in far different regions of the castle than they were in his time – except for Divination, which was already being giving in the North Tower. And then there were the teachers, most of which returned to Hogwarts the fourth week of Harry's stay – third since he'd been released from the Hospital Wing – the last week of the holidays. Harry recognized younger versions of McGonagall, Flickwick, Sprout, Binns – who he noted with quite some shock, wasn't yet a ghost – Sinistra and Madam Hooch. Slughorn, who had taught him in his sixth year, was the Potions Master and Head of Slytherin and Kettleburn was teaching Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was already there as the Keeper of Keys and the only really new teacher for Harry was Ms Tyche, for Divinations. Cali Tyche was a rather old witch whom Harry met only twice before the year started. She looked very much like someone's grandmother, except for her eyes, which didn't match her otherwise tranquil appearance. The other teachers treated her with much more respect than they ever had Trelawney and Harry suspected her predictions were a lot closer to the truth. The only thing she seemed to have in common with Harry's old teacher was her tendency to make a foretelling or two during every conversation. Harry decided to stay far away from her.

It was a good thing Harry always kept his trunk shrunken and in his pocket, or he wouldn't have had anything with him in 1977. As it was, he now had the basics, such as money – both muggle and wizarding – food, clothes, and of course books, potions ingredients and other such things. The other thing he always carried with him was his mirror. Like the one Sirius had once given him, the one he'd smashed after his godfather's death, this mirror was two-way; Ginny had the other one.

Knowing that it couldn't possibly work, but needing to try anyway, Harry called her through the mirror the day after he'd gotten out of the Hospital Wing. He could almost see her smile when he'd given it to her and hear her voice call out to him, but the mirror stubbornly continued showing his own face instead of hers. After five failed attempts, he gave up, and simply tucked it away safely at the bottom of his trunk.

**_-xxx-_**

Finally the day arrived Harry had been both dreading and anticipating: September First. This didn't seem like such a good day for Harry, though…

It started when he woke up that morning, his sheets tangled around him and his glasses smashed on the floor – apparently they'd fallen off his bedside table while he slept. The day only went downhill from there. After he'd untangled himself and said a quick _reparo_ to mend his glasses, all his clothes seemed to have disappeared and in his panic he walked into a door and broke his glasses again. He fixed them for the second time and found his clothes exactly where they were supposed to be: in his trunk, though he could have sworn that'd been empty when he'd first checked. He should have gone back to bed then.

Breakfast was next on his list of disasters. With already jagged nerves and two mismatched socks (Dobby's pair), Harry failed to see Ms Tyche sitting two seats down from him. He almost fell off his seat when he noticed her over his sausages, but managed to contain it to a minor fit of the coughs. Luckily, she hadn't noticed him yet. He had gotten quite blue in the face by the time the coughs subsided and decided on something to drink. It was very unfortunate that he momentarily forgot that he'd just pored hot tea into his mug. Where his covering-coughs had failed, his wild arm movements as he nearly chocked on the scalding tea did get the Divinations witch's attention and she was now making moves to start a conversation with him. Scared witless by the prospect alone, Harry got up, took one step, slipped and landed face-first into an unnamed breakfast dish. When he looked up, goo dripping from his face and onto his clean robes, Cali was giving him a sad smile.

'I was just about to warn you to be careful when you left.' She said. Harry blinked a bit forlornly as he watched her continue with her meal.

'Uh… thank you.' He said. But she wasn't listening anymore. After that Harry decided he was probably better off somewhere else and left in a hurry.

Not even two steps out of the Great Hall he got another shock when someone suddenly dumped water on him. Looking around, he was just in time to spot Peeves upside down and speeding around a corner. Harry knew a lost case when he saw one, so he decided to let the poltergeist be and started heading up the marble staircase. He left a wet trail half way towards his quarters before he realized that, as a wizard, he could dry his robes in seconds.

After that, he had a fairly quiet morning, spent mostly in the kitchens, his refuge until lunch. By the time it was one o'clock, he had mostly forgotten about his streak of bad luck that morning and decided to go outside for a bit to enjoy the beautiful sunny weather.

At first he just wandered around a bit, but after a while he noticed he was heading towards the lake, a place he hadn't visited yet since before he'd arrived in the past. When he reached the water, he just looked at the lake for a while, before he started to walk around it, as the memories of his last battle with Voldemort, which had happened – or would happen – right on the shores of this lake, began flashing though his mind, more clearly than he had seen them since waking up. He remembered every detail. From Voldemort's mocking in the beginning to the frightened look in his eyes when he thought Harry would kill him. And for the first time in a long time, when he thought of Voldemort, he didn't feel the anger, nor the fear, nor the need to stop him. Now that it was over, all he could feel was emptiness. For years, he realized, Voldemort had defined him, ever since he'd entered the wizarding world, but especially after he'd first faced him in front of the mirror, and stopped him from getting the Philosopher's Stone. He'd murdered his parents, he'd made him the Boy-Who-Lived. And everything – revenge, the prophecy, Dumbledore, the wizard population – had made him the champion, the one to fight – and hopefully defeat – Voldemort. That's what he'd become: the one to stop Voldemort. Not Harry. Never 'just Harry'. There was no 'just Harry', he didn't exist anymore, not since he'd heard the prophecy.

But now, with Voldemort defeated, there was no need for the _'neither can live while the other survives'_ Harry. Now there was just he: Harry Potter. Or rather, Harry _**Prongs**_. And now was the time to figure out who that was.

The thought created both a bit of apprehension and a sense of freedom, and he chuckled softly at his unintentional pun. Yes, now was definitely the time to find out who he was, and who his parents were. If only Ginny were here. And as he reached one of his favourite spots by the lake and sat down, his mind drifted to the red-head he was in love with. To the days when they'd been dating, and her help during his search for the horcruxes. And staring into the water, he became lost in thoughts of her.

Loosing track of the time, Harry was very surprised when he was shook out of his thoughts by the sound of splashing only to notice that the sky was already darkening. He hastily got back on his feet, dusting off the back of his robes. As he was doing that, it also penetrated the haze of Ginny memories in his mind that he'd heard something on the lake. Glancing up, he saw a whole swarm of boats floating towards him. Cursing softly under his breath, Harry looked at the first-years, being led across the lake by Hagrid. Though they were still on the other side of the lake, Harry realized it was almost time for the start-of-term feast to begin and that he, as a teacher, was expected to be there. But just as he was turning around to head back to the castle, he saw a bit of very familiar red hair out of the corner of his eyes. He turned back quickly, looking intently at the boats and taking a few steps closer to the shore's edge. And there he was: a young, redheaded and freckle-faced boy. For a moment he thought he saw Ron, as he'd met him on the Hogwarts Express when they were both still tiny eleven-year-olds. Then the image faded and he saw just another redheaded boy sitting with three other first-years.

Though he knew it couldn't possibly have been Ron, Harry still felt a bit deflated. Sadly, he glanced at his feet, just in time to see a tentacle curl itself around his leg. But before he could do more than produce a strangled yelp, he was already being dragged into the lake by the giant squid.

**_-xxx-_**

A line of nervous first-years followed the intimidating witch in an unorderly line, crowding together fearfully. As they entered the Great Hall, where the rest of the school was already sat, looking at them, their frightened little minds had a hard time listening to what the headmaster was saying. Suddenly the great doors swung open with a bang, revealing a dark silhouette with burning green eyes. All stared at him. And for the little boy at the end of the frightened line, that sight was too much, and he promptly fainted.

**_To Be Continued_**


	5. The Strange Sorting Hat Song

- CHAPTER FIVE -

_**The Strange Sorting Hat Song**_

At the Gryffindor table, four boys – known, admired, feared and loved throughout the whole of Hogwarts as the Marauders – looked up at the loud bang of the slamming doors, in time with the rest of the students.

'Who's that?' the smallest, Peter, shrieked, his pallor closely resembling that of the fainted first-year McGonagall was bowing over on the other side of the Great Hall.

'Maybe he's the new teacher?' James, the black-haired boy next to Peter said, as he laid his hand soothingly on the shorter boy's shoulder and gestured towards the empty seat at the Head Table.

'Well, Dumbledore knows who he is and he trusts him,' Remus added in his soft-spoken voice, agreeing with James and contributing a bit more sense, 'otherwise the wards wouldn't have let him in.'

The last boy, Sirius, dark-haired like James but slightly taller, contributed neither sense nor calmth. 'He sure knows how to make an entrance; that was bloody brilliant!' he gushed excitedly. Then he looked at his friends, waiting for them to chime in their agreement. Seeing the appreciative grin on James' face and a hesitant smile on Peter's, he opened his mouth to launch into his 'so what's our big entrance going to be?'-speech. Normally, he started his speech on the train, but this year it had been postponed due to James' Head Boy duties. Before he could start, however, Remus poked him in the ribs.

'Hey!' he exclaimed offended, turning to his werewolf friend.

Unfazed by Sirius' angry look, Remus gestured towards the High Table. Being the only one of the four who had actually paid attention to the rest of the Hall after that first spectacular entrance, he'd noticed the unknown man walking towards the Head Table and Dumbledore rising from his seat.

'Shut up, Padfoot, Dumbledore wants to say something!' he shushed the other Marauder. Sirius, still a bit grumpy, turned towards the Headmaster, as did the other two.

'As you can all see,' Dumbledore addressed the students, 'we have a new teacher this year.' ('I knew it!' exclaimed James.)

'I am sorry to inform you Professor McKinnon will not return this year as she has decided to become more active in the fight against Voldemort,' sounds of disappointment as well as agreement were heard, together with sneers from the Slytherin table, 'but I am convinced Professor Prongs will be quite able to fill the Defence Against the Dark Arts post.' The new Professor took a sweeping bow, which earned him an enthusiastic applause from the students. 'I hope you will all listen well to him.' At his last words, James was sure the Headmaster looked specifically in their direction.

'Now, let the Sorting begin!'

Sirius, who had turned to his plate hopefully, groaned. 'Darn, I forgot they still need to sort the little midgets. I hope they hurry up, I'm starving!'

Remus, who had been about to berate Sirius for calling the first-years midgets, was interrupted by James.

'You're always starving, Padfoot, you have the stomach of a mutt!'

Sirius scowled at him.

'Anyway, that new professor does know how to be noticed,' James continued. Sirius immediately brightened.

'Yeah! And how about us? We still need to do a start-of-term prank. And as this is our last year at Hogwarts, it has to be bloody brilliant!'

Remus had to shake his head in amusement and a bit of awe at James' ability to both wind Sirius up and make him forget about it again a few seconds later. Meanwhile, Peter was stating that all their pranks were 'bloody brilliant'. After his quick reflection on James' actions, Remus quickly joined in with the planning of their newest prank.

**_-xxx-_**

In the mean time, Harry sat slumped into one of the seats at the High Table, where he'd dropped down once Dumbledore had finished his speech, in a mood of petulance over his bad luck today. He was passing the time until the Feast started – like his young Godfather-to-be, he was starving – by gazing around the Hall, his head propped up on one of his elbows. At first, he didn't pay much attention to the individual students and just drank in the sight of a once-again full Great Hall. It felt like coming home. Even though he was sitting at the wrong place, and in the wrong time, the Great Hall, all of Hogwarts actually, still felt like home.

As he thought about this, his eyes wandered over the Gryffindor table until they reached the cheerful foursome. His dad. Sirius. Lupin. Even Peter. Seeing the rat sitting with the other Marauders, so young and carefree, Harry couldn't even despise him. And, after all, Peter was the one who had in the end stopped Voldemort. No, he decided, this Peter was just a boy, a student, not yet a traitor. And he'd have to watch out not to treat him like anything he would later become.

Just as his thoughts were about to dwell deeper into those dark thoughts of who would die and what would happen, while he was still unknowingly staring at the foursome, his attention was suddenly brought back to the present. By the Sorting Hat, to be precise, and the odd twist his song had taken:

_For those who most a warning need,_

_Be sure to hear it here._

_Making play of time and space_

_If only for a year._

_For if you wish a different cast,_

_This one not up to scratch,_

_I have a few choice words for you_

_Which you surely wish to cast!_

_**Fero filos!**_

The hat fell silent and whispers broke out throughout the Hall, speculating on what it had meant. Harry, who knew that last part of the song had applied to him, was lost in thought and barely noticed Dumbledore's speech on forbidden places and objects. He was only pulled out of his pondering when the food appeared and his neighbour Slughorn started an enthusiastic conversation with him about some apparently famous wizard he knew personally and whom Harry had never heard of before. Not that it mattered, because Slughorn never let him get more than two words in. It wasn't until the feast had ended that he finally managed to make his excuses and flee Slughorn's company and by then he hoped never to hear another word of this Jack Waters ever again.

**_-xxx-_**

As the Feast ended and students filed out of the Great Hall, the Marauders too pushed carelessly through the throng of people. Having discussed the new teacher – and the strange coincidence that he shared James' nickname - , girls, food, the Sorting Hat Song and girls, their conversation had once again focussed on their other favourite pastime: pranks.

'I still say we should target Snivellus,' Sirius grumbled as he pushed one cupcake into his mouth and two in his pockets, 'target him before he targets us.'

Remus rolled his eyes at him while James explained, for at least the fourth time that night, that they wanted a larger target for their first prank of the last year. 'And no, we don't want to target that new professor for this either,' he continued in the impossibly patient tone only Sirius' wining could bring on, 'he's the victim for our second prank.'

'So the only question,' Remus continued, 'is whether we target the whole school, or leave the Gryffindors out of it.'

James started to nod when a stricken look suddenly captured his face. 'Oh no!' he groaned, his eyes wide, 'the Gryffindor first-years! Lily's going to kill me!' White-faced, he hurried off to salvage what he could with the Head Girl.

Sirius, cheered up considerably by this sight, and having almost forgotten his earlier grumbles, grinned after him. 'I say he's in for a good shouting match from the beautiful lily-flower,' he announced with glee.

From across the room, Harry watched as the remaining Marauders started a fierce discussion about Lily's possible reactions. All involved psychological or physical torture at the very least.

_They look so young_, he thought, as he drank in the sight of them, _and so carefree_. At that moment, he would give anything to be able to keep them that happy forever. To change what was going to happen. But he knew he shouldn't and the dichotomy tore through him like a cruciatus curse. He knew what he had to do – and what he would do eventually – but right now it was too much for him. He couldn't do it yet, he couldn't decide to just stand by and let them die. Not tonight. Tonight, he just wanted to watch these carefree Marauders and enjoy being here; he just wanted to see his parents for the first time since he had been a year old. Tomorrow, he would make that terrible choice that would ensure their deaths. But not tonight.

With a heavy sigh that made Slughorn, who had just approached Harry to introduce him to some up-and-coming young witch, look at him with some surprise, Harry followed the Marauders out of the Great Hall and gloomily made his way to his fifth-floor chambers.

**_To Be Continued_**


End file.
